A blight, a gloom, I know not what, has crept upon my gladness-- <br />Some vague, remote ancestral touch of sorrow, or of madness; <br />A fear that is not fear, a pain that has not pain's insistence; <br />A sense of longing, or of loss, in some foregone exsistence; <br />A subtle hurt that never pen has writ nor tongue has spoken-- <br />Such hurt perchance as Nature feels wen a blossomed bough is broken.<br /><br />Thomas Bailey Aldrich<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/a-mood/